


Seeing Red

by Xyriath



Category: Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a BuckyNat week prompt: "If I had my way, I'd burn this whole building down."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

Really sorry this took a while--of course I'd get sick during BuckyNat week! D:

\--

He can feel the blood soaking his side, welling around his fingers and the steady pressure he's applied to the bullet wound.  There are others, he thinks, but nothing nearly as noticeable.  
  
He can hear the shouts from behind him, along with sporadic gunfire.  They don't have him in sight, not yet, but he doesn't have to look behind him to know that the amount of blood he's been losing has left a trail.  He needs to get somewhere, and fast, before his body gives out completely.  
  
He can see another section of wall that has collapsed and limps past, sinking to the ground behind it.  It isn't the best cover he's ever been behind, but it'll have to do.  He grips the assault rifle, closing his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath.  It hurts, yes, but it's starting not to, and that worries him.  
  
He hears a noise and his eyes snap open, fingers scrambling for the trigger.  He isn't sure he can feel them, for a few moments, but his hand eventually remembers how to work.  He lifts the gun—to see Natasha watching him, jaw clenched.  
  
"James."  Her voice betrays a hint of worry that her expression does not.  Even that little flash of concern tells him exactly how bad he must look.  She kneels next to him.  "Let me see."  
  
He tries to move his hand, but the blood starts gushing anew, and he clamps down again.  "Don't think that's a good idea, Nat."  His tongue isn't working, either, not properly, and the words come out in a slur.  He should be even more worried at how big her eyes had gotten at the brief sight of the damage, but for some reason, he can't focus on it, and gives up chasing the thoughts flitting around his head.  
  
She takes a deep breath, then lifts her head to peer over the makeshift wall.  She immediately ducks back down, bullets ricocheting behind them.  They're getting closer.  
  
"Have you set the bombs?" she asks, voice steady.  
  
"Just two.  You'll need to set the others."  
  
She nods as he sets the gun down, handing the canvas bag to her, then hesitates.  
  
"Do I need to get you out of here?"  
  
He looks up at her, memorizing every inch of her face.  He knows what she's asking: if she takes him, they won't be coming back.  They won't be able to finish this.  
  
He closes his eyes for a moment, and the atrocities they found here flash behind his eyelids.  Frightened, starved prisoners huddling in the dark, knowing that most of them wouldn't last another day.  Bodies, contorted in agony and cast aside after serving their purpose for these twisted experiments.  
  
"If I had my way, I'd burn this whole building down."  
  
He can see Natasha's face, impassive and controlled, containing the worry he knows is there—as well as the fury.  The fury at what they had seen, and the fury at what they had done to him.  
  
He takes a deep, ragged breath.  There isn't much pain anymore, though he can still feel the blood around his fingers.  "But you're gonna have to do it for me."  
  
She nods, almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I'll cover you, as much as I can," he finishes, coughing, knowing that he's only saying it to pretend not to be completely useless.  She knows it too.  It sends a jolt of pain through his side—well, that's something, at least—and he tries to grin.  He can taste blood.  
  
She leans in suddenly, pressing her lips to his.  Both of the kisses turn desperate within a few moments, and he knows she can taste the blood too.  He can't hold her, not with the way he's bleeding, but she takes his head in her hands, buries her fingers in his hair one last time.  
  
And then she's gone, getting silently to her feet.  Her eyes meet his, and she nods, once, before she turns and runs back into the smoke.  
  
He lifts the gun, resting it on the rubble, trying to steady his hand and peer through the scope.  But he can't see through it, and he can't figure out why.  Not until he feels himself leaning back on the wall again, sliding down helplessly as his metal hand hits the ground with a thump.  
  
It's up to her, now.


End file.
